of the booth where she watched the people
passing by. Not 30 feet away, Dan Young had been standing around
with an odd mix of professionals and a few cowboys, but he looked
more like the cowboys even if his jeans were a little new, his
heavy blue work shirt laundered and starched.
Because he was Otran’s lawyer
and represented industry she had been curious about him. But it
struck her that unlike the other men in the group he had no roll
of flab above the oversized belt buckle. Remarkable for a guy
who had to sit in a chair hours on end. He was tall, she guessed
6’5” in boots maybe 6’4” in his bare feet,
and blonde, obviously blue-eyed. He tended to half-smile under
his bushy mustache and concentrate on whomever was talking, periodically
shifting his weight from one foot to the other while he listened.
He had big hands and used them when
he spoke. There was an earnestness about him that made people
listen although he seemed to stay silent more than speak.
There was a dimple in his chin, and
he had eyebrows that looked like they got regularly
trimmed, and over the right brow was a faded
scar. As she watched, the group of men became more animated, one
of them obviously trying to tease Dan.
Dan smiled at the fellow poking him
in the shoulder, adjusted his hat and walked away over to the
far side of the arena where the bull riders were coming out of
the chute.
“Hey, man, we were only kidding.
Those big fuckers’ll kill you. Come on back here,”
one of the men called out.
In a few minutes Dan Young was riding
a bull. Everybody had heard about Dan—he had grown up riding
everything on four legs—but when he jumped off the bull,
a woman and a boy came running toward the arena. He seemed intent
on them. By the way the woman approached Dan, Maria could tell
it was family. He tried to put his arm around her but she shrugged
it off and squared off to him holding the boy on her hip. It was
obviously his wife, and Maria was guessing that she hadn’t
been consulted about the day’s adventure.
